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Wednesday, September 23, 2009

One of the cornerstones of Judaism is the possibility of Teshuva – return. Man is endowed with a divine spark which is manifest in his free choice: He can utilize his free choice to emulate God, to seek God. Alternatively man can chose to follow his baser side, and sin. At times, a conscious choice is made, while at times man is pulled as if by a magnet. His animal instincts control him, and he does not utilize his capacity to choose; rather, he chooses not to choose. The result is debasement, impurity and sin. When this happens man can wallow in sin and impurity, sinking to lower and lower levels, or man can choose to break the shackles of ignominy and seek God. At such times, man may identify a different magnet pulling him toward God and away from his own inconsistencies and spiritual pain. This process is known as Teshuva.

But is Teshuva always obtainable? Is it an inalienable right? Can we always return – or can the abyss become so deep that there is no return? This question is discussed in the Talmud:

תלמוד בבלי מסכת עבודה זרה דף יז עמוד א"כָּל בָּאֶיהָ לֹא יְשׁוּבוּן, וְלֹא יָשִּיגוּ אוֹרְחוֹת חַיִּים". וּמֵאַחַר שֶׁלֹּא שָׁבוּ, מֵהֵיכָן יָשִּיגוּ? הַכֵי קָאָמַר, וְאִם יָשׁוּבוּ - לֹא יָשִּיגוּ [אָרְחוֹת חַיִּים]. לְמֵימְרָא דְּכָל דְּפָרִישׁ מִמִּינוּת מַיֵית,Scripture says, “None that go unto her return neither do they attain the paths of life.” (Mishlei 2:19) But if they do not return, how can they attain [the paths of life]? — What it means is that even if they do turn away from it they will not attain the paths of life.’ Does it mean then that those who repent from idolatry die? [Avoda Zara 17a]

The Talmud teaches that not all sins can be erased. The spiritual scar can be too deep to be removed by mere regret; the penitent will perish, his penance notwithstanding. Why repent, then, if death will follow? Rashi grapples with this unavoidable question, and offers a new vantage point: In such a case, death is not necessarily a punishment, but a result of the struggle between good and evil waged within the penitent. The struggle to destroy the powerful evil inclination, which had enjoyed so many victories with this individual, will prove overwhelming for the spiritual resources this person has accrued, and the person will perish.

While death may be seen as the result of the return, death itself can bring about atonement[1] and the penitent can be assured a place in the world to come. In fact, a number of sources regard death as a necessary aspect of atonement in some cases.

תלמוד בבלי מסכת יומא דף פו עמוד אשאל רבי מתיא בן חרש את רבי אלעזר בן עזריה ברומי: שמעת ארבעה חלוקי כפרה שהיה רבי ישמעאל דורש? אמר: שלשה הן, ותשובה עם כל אחד ואחד. עבר על עשה ושב - אינו זז משם עד שמוחלין לו, שנאמר +ירמיהו ג+ שובו בנים שובבים. עבר על לא תעשה ועשה תשובה - תשובה תולה, ויום הכפורים מכפר שנאמר +ויקרא טז+ כי ביום הזה יכפר עליכם מכל חטאתיכם. עבר על כריתות ומיתות בית דין ועשה תשובה - תשובה ויום הכפורים תולין, ויסורין ממרקין, שנאמר +תהלים פט+ ופקדתי בשבט פשעם ובנגעים עונם, אבל מי שיש חילול השם בידו - אין לו כח בתשובה לתלות, ולא ביום הכפורים לכפר, ולא ביסורין למרק. אלא כולן תולין, ומיתה ממרקת, שנאמר +ישעיהו כב+ ונגלה באזני ה' צבאות אם יכפר העון הזה לכם עד תמתון.R. Matthia b. Heresh asked R. Eleazar b. Azariah in Rome: Have you heard about the four kinds of sins, concerning which R. Ishmael has lectured? He answered: They are three, and with each is repentance connected — If one transgressed a positive commandment and repented, then he is forgiven, before he has moved from his place; as it is said: ‘Return, O backsliding children.’ (Yirmiyahu 3, 14). If he has transgressed a prohibition and repented, then repentance suspends [the punishment] and the Day of Atonement procures atonement, as it is said: For on this day shall atonement be made for you ... from all your sins. (Vayikra 16, 30) If he has committed [a sin to be punished with] extirpation or death through the Bet Din, and repented, then repentance and the Day of Atonement suspend [the punishment thereon], and suffering finishes the atonement, as it is said: Then will I visit their transgression with the rod, and their iniquity with strokes (Tehilim 89:43). But if he has been guilty of the profanation of the Name, then penitence has no power to suspend punishment, nor the Day of Atonement to procure atonement, nor suffering to finish it, but all of them together suspend the punishment and only death finishes it, as it is said : And the Lord of hosts revealed Himself in my ears; surely this iniquity shall not be expiated by you till ye die. (Yoma 86a)

Sin and the accompanying pleasure, cause damage to the soul. Some type of atonement is needed to recreate the delicate balance between body and soul. Different types of sin require different types of atonement. The worst type of sin – the desecration of God’s name -requires death as atonement.

The Talmud continues and recounts the story of a woman who apparently was guilty of idolatry among the host of sins she had committed:

תלמוד בבלי מסכת עבודה זרה דף יז עמוד אוְהָא הַהִיא אִתְּתָא דְאַתָת לְקַמֵּיהּ דְּרַב חִסְדָּא. וְאָמְרָה לֵיהּ, קַלָּה שֶׁבַּקָּלּוֹת עָשְׂתָה בְנָהּ קָטָן מִבְּנָהּ גָּדוֹל, וְאָמַר לָהּ רַב חִסְדָּא, טָרְחוּ לָהּ בַּזְוַודְתָּה, וְלֹא מֵתָה. כֵּיוָן דְּאַמְרָה לֵיהּ, קַלָּה שֶׁבַּקַּלּוֹת עָשִׂיתִי, מִכְּלָל דְּמִינוּת נַמִּי הַוְיָא בָהּ, הַאי דְּלָלֹא מֵתָה מִשּׁוּם דְּלָא הַדְּרָא בָהּ שָׁפִּיר. [וּמִשּׁוּם הַכֵי לֹא מֵתָה].Was there not that woman who came before R. Hisda confessing to him that the lightest sin that she committed was that her younger son was fathered of her older son? Whereupon R. Hisda said: Get busy in preparing her shrouds — but she did not die. Now, since she refers to her [immoral] act as the lightest sin, it may be assumed that she had also adopted idolatry [and yet she did not die]! — That one did not properly repent, that is why she did not die. [Avoda Zara 17a]

The thesis of the Talmud remains intact; returning from idolatry causes death (as atonement). In this case the Talmud insists that while she was guilty of idolatry, her return was not complete, nor sincere. Hence no death needed to immediately follow in order to guarantee atonement, for no atonement was forthcoming due to the lack of regret. The Talmud retells another version of the same story:

תלמוד בבלי מסכת עבודה זרה דף יז עמוד אאִיכָּא דְּמַתְנִי הָכֵי, מִמִּינוּת - אִין, מֵעֲבֵירָה לָא? וְהַא, הַהִיא אִתְּתָא דְאֲתָּת לְקַמֵּיהּ דְּרַב חִסְדָּא, אָמְרָה לֵיהּ, קַלָּה שֶׁבַּקָּלוֹת עָשְׂתָה בְנָה קָטָן מִבְּנָה גָּדוֹל, וְאָמַר לֵיהּ רַב חִסְדָּא, זְוִידִי לָהּ זְוָודְתָּא, וּמֵתָה. מִדְקָאַמְרָה לֵיהּ, קַלָּה שֶׁבַּקָּלּוֹת עָשְׂתָה, מִכְּלָל דְּמִינוּת נַמִי הַוְיָא בָהּ:Some have this version: [Is it only] from idolatry that one dies if one repents, but not from other sins. Was there not that woman who came before R. Hisda who said, ‘Prepare her shrouds’ and she died? — Since she said [of her guilt] that it is one of the lightest, it may be assumed that she was guilty of idolatry also.

This woman did die; the Talmud’s thesis is upheld once again – return from idolatry causes death. The Talmud then explores whether idolatry is the only offense with this result and tells us an incredible tale:

תלמוד בבלי מסכת עבודה זרה דף יז עמוד אוּמֵעֲבֵירָה לֹא? וְהַתַּנְיָא, אָמְרוּ עָלָיו עַל [רַבִּי] אֶלְעָזָר בֶּן דַּרְדִיָא, שֶׁלֹּא הִנֵּיחַ זוֹנָה [אַחַת בָּעוֹלָם] שֶׁלֹּא בָא עָלֶיהָ. פַּעַם אַחַת שָׁמַע שֶׁיֵּשׁ זוֹנָה בִכְּרַכֵי הַיָּם, וְנוֹטֶלֶת כִּיס דִּינָרִין בִּשְׂכָרָהּ, נָטַל כִּיס דִּינָרִין וְהָלַךְ וְעָבַר עָלֶיהָ שִׁבְעָה נְהָרוֹת. בִּשְׁעַת הֶרְגֵל דָּבָר, הֵפִיחָה. אָמְרָה, כְּשֵׁם שֶׁהַפִיחָה זוֹ אֵינָה חוֹזֶרֶת [לִמְקוֹמָהּ], כָּךְ אֶלְעָזָר בֶּן דֻּרְדִיָא אֵין מְקַבְּלִין אוֹתוֹ בִתְשׁוּבָה. הָלַךְ וְיָשַׁב בֵּין הָרִים וּגְבָעוֹת. אָמַר, הָרִים וּגְבָעוֹת בַּקְּשׁוּ עָלַי רַחֲמִים, אָמְרוּ לוֹ, עַד שֶׁאָנוּ מְבַקְשִׁים עָלֶיךָ רַחֲמִים, נְבַקֵשׁ עַל עַצְמֵנוּ, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר, (ישעיה נד) "כִּי הֶהָרִים יָמוּשׁוּ, וְהַגְּבָעוֹת תְּמוֹטֶינָה". אָמַר, שָׁמַיִם וָאָרֶץ בַּקְשׁוּ עָלַי רַחֲמִים, אָמְרוּ לוֹ, עַד שֶׁאָנוּ מְבַקְשִׁים עָלֶיךָ רַחֲמִים, נְבַקֵשׁ עַל עַצְמֵנוּ, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר, (שם נא) "כִּי שָׁמַיִם כְּעָשָׁן נִמְלָחוּ וְהָאָרֶץ כַּבֶּגֶד תִּבְלֶה". אָמַר, חַמָּה וּלְבָנָה, בַּקְשׁוּ עָלַי רַחֲמִים, אָמְרוּ לוֹ, עַד שֶׁאָנוּ מְבַקְשִׁים עָלֶיךָ רַחֲמִים, נְבַקֵּשׁ רַחֲמִים עַל עַצְמֵנוּ, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר, (שם נד) "וְחָפְרָה הַלְּבָנָה וּבוֹשָׁה הַחַמָּה". אָמַר, כּוֹכָבִים וּמַזָּלוֹת בָּקְשׁוּ עָלַי רַחֲמִים, אָמְרוּ [לוֹ], עַד שֶׁנְּבַקֵּשׁ עָלֶיךָ רַחֲמִים, נְבַקֵּשׁ עַל עַצְמֵנוּ, שֶׁנֶּאֱמַר, (שם לד) "וְנָמַקּוּ כָּל צְבָא הַשָּׁמַיִם". אָמַר, אֵין הַדָּבָר תָּלוּי אֶלָּא בִי, הִנִּיחַ רֹאשׁוֹ בֵין בִּרְכָּיו וְגָעָה בִבְכִיָה עַד שֶׁיָצְתָּה נִשְׁמָתוֹ. יָצְתָּה בַת קוֹל וְאָמְרָה, רַבִּי אֶלְעָזָר בֶּן דֻּרְדִיָא מְזוּמָן לְחַיֵי הָעוֹלָם הַבָּא. וְהָא הָכָא בַעֲבֵירָה הֲוֵה, וּמֵית? הָתָם [נַמִי] כֵּיוָן דַּאֲבִיק בֵּיהּ טוּבָא, כְּמִינוּת הֲוֵה דָּמְיָא. בָּכָה רַבִּי וְאָמַר, יֵשׁ קוֹנֶה עוֹלָמוֹ בְכַמָּה שָׁנִים, וְיֵשׁ קוֹנֶה בְשָׁעָה אַחַת, אָמַר רַבִּי, לֹא דַּיָין לְבַּעֲלֵי תְּשׁוּבָה שֶׁמְּקַבְּלִים אוֹתָם, אֶלָּא שֶׁקּוֹרִין אוֹתָם "רַבִּי":And does not one die on renouncing sins other [than idolatry]? Surely it has been taught: It was said of R. Eleazar b. Dordaya that he did not leave out any harlot in the world without coming to her. Once, he heard that there was a certain prostitute in one of the towns by the sea who accepted a purse of coins for her hire. He took a purse of coins and crossed seven rivers for her sake. As he was with her, she blew forth breath and said: ‘As this blown breath will not return to its place, so will Eleazar b. Dordaya never be received in repentance.’ He thereupon went, sat between two hills and mountains and exclaimed: ‘O, ye hills and mountains, plead for mercy for me!’ They replied: ‘How shall we pray for thee? We stand in need of it ourselves, for it is said, “For the mountains shall depart and the hills be removed!” So he exclaimed: ‘Heaven and earth, plead for mercy for me!’ They, too, replied: How shall we pray for thee? We stand in need of it ourselves, for it is said, “For the heavens shall vanish away like smoke, and the earth shall wax old like a garment.” He then exclaimed: ‘Sun and moon, plead for mercy for me!’ But they also replied: ‘How shall we pray for thee? We stand in need of it ourselves, for it is said, “Then the moon shall be confounded and the sun ashamed.” He exclaimed: Ye stars and constellations plead ye for mercy for me!’ Said they: ‘How shall we pray for thee? We stand in need of it ourselves, for it is said, “And all the hosts of heaven shall moulder away.” Said he: The matter then depends upon me alone! He placed his head between his knees, he wept aloud until his soul departed. Then a bat-kol was heard proclaiming: ‘Rabbi Eleazar b. Dordaya is destined for the life of the world to come[2]!’ Now, here was a case of a sin [other than idolatry] and yet he did die! — In that case, too, since he was so much addicted to immorality it is as [if he had been guilty of] idolatry. Rabbi [on hearing of it] wept and said: One may acquire eternal life after many years, another in one hour! Rabbi also said: not only are penitents accepted, they are even called ‘Rabbi’! [Avoda Zara 17a]

We are told of a habitual sinner who, remarkably, is introduced as “Rabbi”, although his behavior is not consistent with this appellation. Careful reading of the passage indicates that he is referred to as “Rabbi” posthumously, and only in retrospect. In life this man was indeed a sinner: he did not teach, nor even study[3]. His only concern was fulfilling his own sordid desires. Only in death does he become a Rabbi.[4]

Even with the issue of ordination cleared, the story remains difficult. What is the meaning of the bizarre behavior of the prostitute, and why does she say what she says? Why does he take her words so seriously? What is the meaning of his conversation with the mountains and hills, the sun and moon and stars? Why does he merit to be called Rabbi? And finally, why does he die?

Whether his dialogue with hills and mountains is real or imagined[5], it provides a fascinating description of what Teshuva is not. The rejection of his impassioned plea leaves us with the understanding that the answer to man’s prayers does not lie in the forces of nature: When it comes to repentance or return, nature cannot help man. The image is stark: Here is a man who succumbed to his own base nature. His desires dictated the type of man he would be, and the forces of nature cannot lead him to spiritual healing.

The message is essential to our understanding the dynamics of Teshuva: Teshuva is not made of worldly stuff. The secret of Teshuva does not lie within the cosmos. Teshuva is metaphysical. It was created before the physical world.[6] Teshuva is a return to God; as God transcends time space and matter, man who forges a relationship with God can transcend his past. This concept can be described utilizing a mathematical formula: Infinite plus finite remains infinite.[7] Reality is God. Only this infinite reality existed before the creation of our physical, limited world. The only aspect of our existence that is “real” is that which is in relationship with this infinite reality- God. Finite man who has a relationship with the infinite God can thus move beyond the physical boundaries of time and space to transcend the mistakes of his past. What is real is the present relationship with God.

Eleazar approaches nature but his efforts are rejected. As far as nature is concerned, man today may stop doing what he did yesterday; rehabilitation is possible, but Teshuva, metaphysical cleansing and healing, is not.

Let us now return to an earlier part of the story. At the point of rapture, air escapes from the woman, and she looks at her client Eleazar and says, “As this air will not return to its place, so will Eleazar b. Dordaya never be received in repentance.” Her behavior and words confound us. Does she discuss the spiritual status of all her clients? Is such a service included in her price? The word used in the text is heficha; Rashi explains that a wind (or spirit – Hebrew word is ruach) blew forth. The first time a derivative of heficha is used in the Torah is when man is given his soul.

בראשית פרק ב(ז) וַיִּיצֶר ה’ אֱלֹהִים אֶת הָאָדָם עָפָר מִן הָאֲדָמָה וַיִּפַּח בְּאַפָּיו נִשְׁמַת חַיִּים וַיְהִי הָאָדָם לְנֶפֶשׁ חַיָּהAnd the Lord God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed (vayipach) into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul. [Berishit 2:7]

Apparently what this woman is saying is that his soul had become impossibly soiled[8]. Her motivation is obscure: Perhaps, being accustomed to having total control of her body and suddenly, unexpectedly, losing that control, enables her to recognize that Eleazar is lost in a similar way.[9] This shocks Eleazar: He always thought of himself as redeemable; he probably didn’t think he was all that bad. He probably told himself that he was a decent fellow who just likes to party a bit, never noticing the extent to which he had deteriorated spiritually. He thought of himself as a basically decent person who would always be able to mend his ways. Suddenly, this woman’s cynical laugh tells him that he is hopeless. He is devastated by the mere thought and decides, then and there, to seek change.

He seeks a way back but is told that he is hopelessly degenerate, suffering from malignant deterioration. This may be the meaning of his name ‘Ben Durdaya’-- the son of hitdardarut, the one who deteriorated further and further until all seemed lost.[10]

His first name, though, is Eleazar, which means ‘God can help’[11]. No matter how far any sinner deteriorates he remains Eleazar, God can always help. When he walks away from the prostitute, separating himself from his sin, he seeks purity, not mere rehabilitation. He wants his soul to be pure again, as pure as it was the day he was born. He turns to nature in an attempt to turn back the clock, but is told that such a request is impossible. Nature can neither control nor impact the past.

When he makes his plea to nature, Eleazar repeatedly beseeches: “Ask for mercy for me”, the Hebrew word being rachamim. The root of this word is ReCheM, which can also be rendered ‘womb’: rachmanut is the type of mercy a mother has for her child – it is almost unlimited. But when we recall that this is a man who has slept with countless women we realize that the term rachamim also describes the area and nature of his sin. He wants to go back to the moment of birth, to start all over again. He wants purity.

This explains his next action: “He placed his head between his knees, he wept aloud until his soul departed.” Eleazar assumes a “fetal” position and then cries until his soul departs. He symbolically reverses the process of birth and life in an effort to achieve the purity possessed by a soul when it is brand new. Though nature shunned him he knew that he possessed within himself the ability to find peace and serenity. He says “The matter then depends upon me alone”[12]. The “me” is Eleazar, the individual whom God can help despite the deterioration, the individual who has a divine soul, no matter how soiled it has become, no matter how degenerate, who always has the capacity for Teshuva.

This is why he is called “Rabbi”: He teaches us a valuable lesson, that Teshuva is always possible even if death is the result. He does not let the naysayers sway him from a path of holiness, and he does not let his years of corruption prevent his pursuit of holiness. He does not allow his past to destroy his future, and in one glorious moment, he finally understands why he was born and seeks God with all his heart and all his soul – even to the point of losing his life.[13]

While his gesture is grand and his resolve admirable, why did he need to die? The Talmud says that his corruption was so all-consuming, his indulgence so addictive, that it was as if he was an idolater. He worshiped[14] his own lust with all his heart and all his soul and all his possessions. He was willing to cross seven[15] rivers; he took all the money that was required, for his soul was consumed by his addiction. In order to be healed he needed to use the same forces: he now needed to serve God with all his heart all his soul and all his possessions. Perhaps this intense reversal is what led to his death. Perhaps his death was actually a kindness[16] on the part of God; for such a corrupt man to have reached a spiritual high is quite impressive, but how would this man conduct himself on a day-to-day basis? With his addiction subdued or under control, what would his life have been? Would he have been able to sustain this religious high with any consistency? Or was death an escape? Perhaps the only way he would gain a share in the world to come was by leaving the world at the time of his pinnacle, the moment he cried and achieved purity.

Our conclusion must be that Teshuva is always possible, though at times the effects of sin are so profound that they cannot be elevated. Death alone brings atonement. The uplifting message of the story, indeed the message and teaching of Rabbi Eleazar ben Durdaya, is that Teshuva is always accessible, purity always possible, a share in the world to come always available, even for the worst of sinners.[17]

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

While the overwhelming majority of the Torah is made up of either narrative or law, a small percentage of the Torah is poetry or song. One such poetic section is found in the penultimate parsha, Ha’azinu: As Moshe prepares to take leave of his beloved nation, he breaks into song. And although the form of Moshe's words to the nation may be less than typical, certain elements of the content of this parsha are quite familiar, continuing themes that recur throughout the Torah, and in the Book of Devarim in particular: Moshe gives a very frank accounting of the shortcomings of the Children of Israel, and tries to inspire them to follow the Word of God. He then offers a more personal insight: As Moshe stands with the people at the verge of the Land of Israel, from which he is personally barred, he allows his flock, and all of the future generations of the nation, a glimpse into his inner thoughts. Despite what others may perceive as an unjust punishment, an overly strict punishment, Moshe declares:

דברים פרק לב, דהַצּוּר תָּמִים פָּעֳלוֹ כִּי כָל דְּרָכָיו מִשְׁפָּט אֵל אֱמוּנָה וְאֵין עָוֶל צַדִּיק וְיָשָׁר הוּא:He is the Rock, his work is perfect; for all his ways are justice; a faithful God without wrong, just and right is He. D’varim 32:4.

This, from the mouth of a man who has given his entire life in service of one goal, only to denied the enjoyment of seeing it come to fruition!

Moshe then turns his attention to the larger picture. He addresses the nation as a whole, and its place among the family of nations. Whereas the Book of D'varim does not lack repeated warnings against idolatry and the dangers presented by the undue familiarity with the surrounding cultures, Parshat Ha'azinu offers a somewhat unique perspective. Here, Moshe compares and contrasts the Jews with the other nations of the world, and the lessons we learn from this comparison are fascinating. First, Moshe teaches of an intrinsic relationship between the Jewish nation and the other nations of the world:

דברים פרק לב(ח) בְּהַנְחֵל עֶלְיוֹן גּוֹיִם בְּהַפְרִידוֹ בְּנֵי אָדָם יַצֵּב גְּבֻלֹת עַמִּים לְמִסְפַּר בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל:When the Most High divided to the nations their inheritance, when he set apart the sons of Adam, he set the bounds of the people according to the number of the people of Israel. D’varim 32:8

This verse hearkens back to the Book of Bereishit. After the flood, in the aftermath of the Tower of Babel debacle, seventy descendents of Noach were dispersed throughout the world, divided into distinct nations, each with a distinct language and culture; these seventy nations spread and multiplied, and populated the world. [1] According to Jewish tradition, these seventy nations represent the totality of human civilization. Thus, when the Torah commands that seventy offerings are to be brought in the Temple on the Festival of Sukkot (Tabernacles), the Talmud explains that these offerings are brought on behalf of the seventy nations of the world, representing a universal gesture on the part of the Jewish people.[2]

This is Rashi's frame of reference when elucidating the verse in Ha'azinu:

Moshe places the Jewish People within the family on nations, but goes on to pinpoint Israel's unique position within that larger context:

רש"י על דברים פרק לב פסוק חלמספר בני ישראל - בשביל מספר בני ישראל שעתידין לצאת מבני שם ולמספר שבעים נפש של בני ישראל שירדו למצרים הציב גבולות עמים שבעים לשון:For the number of the Children of Israel who would descend in the future from Shem, and the seventy souls of the Children of Israel who went down to Egypt, He created borders of nations of seventy languages. Rashi D’varim 32:8

Rashi points out a parallel which might otherwise have been overlooked: When the children of Yaakov went down to Egypt, the family numbered seventy people. This was the beginning of our particular nation, a unique entity within the family of nations.

בראשית פרק מו(כז) וּבְנֵי יוֹסֵף אֲשֶׁר יֻלַּד לוֹ בְמִצְרַיִם נֶפֶשׁ שְׁנָיִם כָּל הַנֶּפֶשׁ לְבֵית יַעֲקֹב הַבָּאָה מִצְרַיְמָה שִׁבְעִים: פ﻿And the sons of Yosef, who were born to him in Egypt, were two souls; all the souls of the House of Yaakov who came to Egypt were seventy. Bereishit 46:27

The relationship goes far beyond a numerical coincidence or a scriptural oddity; apparently, the role to be fulfilled by the Jewish Nation, the destiny of the House of Yaakov, is somehow linked to the seventy nations. This is an underlying principle, which Rashi emphasizes in his brief comments on our verse: God's relationship with the Jewish People is two-tiered. On the one hand, the Children of Israel enjoy a unique, exclusive relationship with God:דברים פרק לב (ט) כִּי חֵלֶק ה’ עַמּוֹ יַעֲקֹב חֶבֶל נַחֲלָתוֹ:For God’s portion is His People; Yaakov is the khevel (see the discussion below for a definition of this word) of his inheritance. D’varim 32:9

The Nation of Israel, uniquely, is called "God’s inheritance". On the other hand, the Jews are members of the larger community – and not merely members, but members whose mandate is to repair the damage caused by the other members, to uplift and purify what the other nations corrupted.

The word khevel has several different meanings. Based on the context of this verse, and in light of the verse immediately preceding this one which discussed borders, the word khevel here would mean portion, lot, or parcel of land. Yet Rashi chooses an alternate definition of this word, which is seemingly disconnected from the context.רש"י על דברים פרק לב פסוק טכי חלק ה' עמו - למה כל זאת לפי שהיה חלקו כבוש ביניהם ועתיד לצאת ומי הוא חלקו עמו ומי הוא עמו יעקב חבל נחלתו והוא השלישי באבות המשולש בג' זכיות זכות אבי אביו וזכות אביו וזכותו הרי ג' כחבל הזה שהוא עשוי בג' גדילים.Why all this? Because His share was hidden among them and destined to emerge. And who is His share? His People. And who is His People? Yaakov, the khevel of his possession. And he (Yaakov) is the third of the Patriarchs who is tripled with three merits: the merit of his father's father, the merit of his father, and his own merit. There you have three, like this rope which is made of three strands. Rashi D’varim 32:9

In this verse, Rashi renders the word khevel as 'rope': a rope formed by three strands, whose combined strength is not easily broken.[3] This definition of the khevel forces us to leave behind the earthly sphere, parcels of land or inheritance. Rashi prefers a more spiritual meaning, perhaps taking his cues from the poetic framework. With this definition of khevel, our three Patriarchs, Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov are drawn into the verse: The merger of the attributes of our Three Forefathers creates a spiritual bond between the Jewish People with God. Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov are each one strand of the spiritual rope that connects us to God.

The image of the three-corded rope is paralleled by the image of the three-legged throne: Our spiritual stability, the durability of our relationship with God, is impossible without the combined strengths of our three Forefathers. Yaakov's vision of the ladder is a vision the ongoing relationship with God, the possibility of dialogue with the Almighty – a dialogue made possible by the combination of spiritual qualities contributed by each of the Forefathers to the "spiritual DNA" of the Jewish People. Elsewhere, the Midrash expresses a similar idea, using different imagery: The Avot are depicted as a merkava (chariot), a spiritual conduit to heaven.

While we might lose ourselves in the wealth of images and visions, Rabbi Avraham Ben Ya’akov in his Tz'ror Hamor helps us to understand that in fact, all of these Midrashic sources refer to the same idea, the same power to which Rashi alludes when he defines khevel in this particular way: The rope in Ha'azinu which describes our unique relationship with God is the same rope of which Yaakov's ladder is made, and the images of the three-legged throne and the chariot describe this same phenomenon:[4] God's love for our three Patriarchs. The ladder, poised between heaven and earth; the fiery merkava which enables mortal man to grasp some measure of the spiritual world beyond; the image of the Throne of Glory – all are manifestations of God's love for His People, and it is this love that enables man to relate to and reach heaven. The Tzror Hamor quotes an additional verse that brings these images into focus:

הושע פרק יא, דבְּחַבְלֵי אָדָם אֶמְשְׁכֵם בַּעֲבֹתוֹת אַהֲבָה וָאֶהְיֶה לָהֶם כִּמְרִימֵי עֹל עַל לְחֵיהֶם וְאַט אֵלָיו אוֹכִיל:I swaddle them and draw them to me with human cords, with bands of love; and I am to them like a parent who lifts up an infant and holds him to the breast and patiently feeds him. Hoshea 11:4

It is precisely in this context that the Tzror HaMor places the Mishkan: It is because of God's love for the Jewish People that He gives us the opportunity to build a conduit, to build a ladder with its base on the ground that reaches up to heaven. Where some commentaries see an expression of human failing, and believe the Mishkan to be a corrective response to the sin of the Golden Calf[5], the Tzror Hamor sees an affirmation of the unique bond between God and the Children of Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov: Despite the enormity of their sin, the connection between the Jews and God is not severed. This connection is stronger than their sin; like a three-corded rope, the relationship is multifaceted, deeper and richer than it may appear at any given moment in history, because it is made up of the combined strands of spiritual greatness of our three Forefathers. The love between God and Avraham, Yitzchak and Yaakov is the source of our relationship with God, the reason God allows us to approach Him, to come ever closer to Him. This love is symbolized, in Bereishit, by the ladder of Yaakov's vision, in the visions of the Prophets by the Chariot and the Throne, and in Moshe's farewell song of love – by the image of the khevel that connects God and His People.

The Mishkan and later the Beit HaMikdash were designed as ongoing, permanent expressions of this unique bond between God and the Jewish People. When we remind ourselves of the events leading up to the construction of the Mishkan, this becomes more clear: At the climactic moment of our spiritual redemption, as Moshe receives the Torah from God, the Jewish People commit an unthinkable transgression against God. The Tablets of the Covenant are smashed at the foot of Mount Sinai, and it appears that all is lost. Yet God invites Moshe to ascend the mountain again, on the 1st of Elul. Forty days later, on a day of forgiveness, a day of love, the people are given a new set of Tablets. This day would come to be known throughout history as Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement, for on that particular day the Jews were forgiven for their outrageous sin – the Golden Calf. And immediately after Moshe descends with the Second Tablets, the Jewish People are given the commandment to build the Mishkan – a physical manifestation of the unique, eternal relationship, an apparatus to facilitate closeness with God.

The Vilna Gaon connects the Festival of Sukkot to these same elements - the sin of the Golden Calf, Yom Kippur, the building of the Mishkan – and the special love that God has for the Jewish People. Specifically, the Vilna Gaon addresses a question raised by many of our Sages: Why is Sukkot celebrated in the fall?[6] It is universally accepted that Sukkot commemorates and gives thanks for the way God protected the Israelites when they left Egypt and travelled in the desert – spiritual protection with Clouds of Glory, or physical shelter, huts or booths.[7] Why not celebrate this holiday during the time of year in which it transpired – like the Exodus itself, in the spring? The Vilna Gaon explains that the protection of the Clouds of Glory was cancelled when the Israelites sinned with the Golden Calf. The clouds symbolized the relationship between God and His People, and when they turned their backs to God and worshipped the Golden Calf the clouds dissipated. When the people actively sought out God and began building the Mishkan, enthusiastically reconstructing their relationship and taking advantage of the opportunity to come close to God, reaching up to take the hand God lovingly extended to them, the Clouds returned. This is what we celebrate on Sukkot – not the clouds themselves, which accompanied us from the start of the Exodus in the month of Nisan, but the return of the Clouds of Glory that began after Yom Kippur. We celebrate the healing of the relationship that had become fractured[8], and rejoice in the knowledge that God's love for the Jewish People remains.[9]

This idea is expressed in the custom of starting to build the sukka immediately after the completion of the Yom Kippur fast.[10] The Maharil,[11] who cites this custom, explains: God displays his continued love for us by granting us forgiveness, and we immediately reciprocate by building the sukka – a symbolic representation[12] of the Mishkan/Beit HaMikdash.[13] Love does not remain unrequited; the gestures of love are mutual. The ties between God and the Jewish People are bonds of love, and they are mutual: In Moshe's words, “God’s portion is His People; Yaakov is the khevel of His inheritance."

Sukkot, then, is a celebration of a unique, loving relationship that is founded on the love between God and our three Forefathers. How appropriate, then, that we invite our Forefathers into the sukka. The tradition known as ushpizin, spiritual guests[14] whom we invoke as we sit in the sukka, connects us back to the wellsprings of our unique relationship with God.[15]

From this perspective, Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur prepare us for the Festival of Sukkot: in order to be worthy of this unique relationship with God, in order to be worthy to sit in the sukka and enjoy our special closeness with Him, we concentrate, on Rosh Hashanah, on the universal truth of God's kingship over all of Creation. The realization and acceptance of God's sole dominion over everything enables us to seek His forgiveness on Yom Kippur. And when He grants forgiveness, in an act of love for which we are unworthy as individuals but for which we merit because of our Forefathers, we reach the ultimate stage – Sukkot. We enter the sukka; we are enveloped by God’s love.[16] Once again, we delight in heavenly protection. We leave our physical homes and return to our spiritual home – the sukka, our own small Mishkan. The seventy offerings brought on Sukkot express our prayer that all of the seventy nations will find their way home as well.

[1] See Bereishit 10:32.[2] See Talmud Bavli Sukkah 55b: "R. Eleazar stated, To what do those seventy bullocks [that were offered during the seven days of the Festival] correspond? To the seventy nations."

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

On Rosh Hashanah which falls on Shabbat we desist from blowing the shofar. At first glance this is a very strange practice – or non-practice. The blowing of the shofar is a Torah commandment, which applies but one day a year. Nonetheless we do not blow the shofar on Rosh Hashanah which falls on Shabbat. The first approach taken by the Talmud is that the idea not to blow is also from the Torah:

Whence [in the Scripture] is this rule derived? — R. Levi b. Lahma said: One verse says, ‘a solemn rest, a memorial of blast of horns,’ while another verse says, ‘it is a day of blowing the horn unto you!’ [Yet] there is no contradiction, as one refers to a festival which falls on Sabbath and the other to a festival which falls on a weekday. (Rosh Hashanah 29b)

While this would certainly solve the problem, the solution is not so simple. The Mishna already noted that even on Shabbat the shofar is sounded in the Temple. If there were a biblically mandated prohibition to blow on Shabbat, then blowing shofar in the Temple would be equally inappropriate. Therefore Rava explains:

Rava said, ‘According to the Written Law it is allowed, and it is the Rabbis who prohibited it as a precaution; as stated by Rabbah; for Rabbah said, All are under obligation to blow the shofar but not all are skilled in the blowing of the shofar. [Hence] there is a danger that perhaps one will take it in his hand [on Sabbath] and go to an expert to learn and carry it four cubits in public domain. The same reason applies to the lulav and the same reason to the Megillah (Rosh Hashanah 16a)

We see that on a Torah level, the shofar should be blown even on Shabbat; it is a Rabbinic prohibition which prevents the fulfillment of the Torah law, and our question rebounds with even greater force: If the Torah commands us to sound the shofar on this day, how could the rabbis say not to? The technical answers to this question are not necessarily satisfying in this case, for here our concern is that a singular, unique, once- a- year mitzvah is frustrated. The question is compounded by a passage in the Talmud that regards the failure to blow the shofar as an ominous sign:

R. Isaac further said: If the shofar is not sounded at the beginning of the year, evil will befall at the end of it. Why so? Because the Accuser has not been confused.

When the shofar is not sounded, deleterious spiritual effects result. On the other hand, if we consider the origin of the shofar and the spiritual implications of its message, perhaps we attain the benefits of the sound of the shofar without actually blowing, and still “confound Satan”.

The sounding of the shofar is a symbol of God’s benevolence and capacity to forgive us even when guilty. Through the sound produced by the ram’s horn, we are reconnected with spiritual power of akeidat Yitzchak : Avraham willingly responds to God’s call to offer his beloved son Yitzchak as an offering, but a heavenly voice instructs him to desist, and to offer the entangled ram in Yitzchak’s stead. Henceforth, the ram’s horn becomes both a reminder, a symbol and a call to respond to the spiritual challenge and to return to the spiritual standard set by Avraham. The Midrash says that whenever the Jews become entangled in sin, the sound of the shofar can be an agent of forgiveness.

A serious question emerges from the biblical passages surrounding the akeida: While the command to offer Yitzchak came directly from God, the order to desist came from an Angel. We might ask: whose command takes precedence, God Himself or His messenger? While we may say that the command to take a life is something only God Himself has the authority to issue, an angel’s order to save a life is sufficient. However, if we analyze the entire akeida episode in terms of the theme of Rosh Hashanah, a clearer explanation emerges. The fundamental aspect of Rosh Hashanah is the idea of God’s kingship. It is a day of coronation, and we are called upon to take our role in this coronation. The main theme is Kabbalat ol Malchut Shamayim – accepting the kingship of Heaven, as heroically demonstrated by Avraham, who was prepared to follow the divine command even though it contradicted his every emotion, every sensibility. The Word of God had come to him, had commanded him, and he knew that he must accept the Yoke of Heaven.

God regarded Avraham’s willingness to obey as equal to actual performance of the deed; He regarded the willingness to comply as fulfillment of the letter of His command. There was no need for Yitzchak to die; the test was passed. Avraham accepted the word of the Angel; Yitzchak was saved, the ram was used in his place, and the shofar became the symbol of this shift. In every sense, the word of the angel is also “from heaven”: obeying the angel’s command is also Kabbalat ol Malchut Shamayim.

When Rosh Hashana falls on Shabbat and the shofar is not sounded, we experience another intriguing repercussion of the Akaida and of the sacrifice that was not made. The slaughter of Yitzchak was voided, yet God considered it as having been performed in full. Similarly, when we do not blow the shofar, we are essentially performing an identical gesture and hoping that God accepts our lack of performance of the Mitzvah in a similar vein. This, too, is Kabbalat ol Malchut Shamayim; in fact, it is an even more profound acceptance of God’s rule. For when we blow the shofar, we hear and accept God’s Word, but when we desist from blowing the shofar on Shabbat, we show concern for God’s Shabbat, and we are effectively accepting not only the words of the Torah, but the words of the sages as well. We, too, are obeying the directives of God’s messengers. This, too, is Kabbalat ol Malchut Shamayim.

The ominous portent associated with not blowing the shofar applies only when Kabbalat ol Malchut Shamayim is diminished by the absence of the spiritual awareness awakened by the shofar’s blast. Therefore, it is even more important when we don’t blow the shofar to concentrate and focus on how we accept God as King, how we adore and safeguard Shabbat, how we unswervingly accept the words of the Torah and the authority of the Rabbis. By not blowing the shofar, we can bring about even greater Kabbalat ol Malchut Shamayim.

It is our hope that in this merit the coming year will be delightful from beginning to end.

May we all be inscribed in the Book of the Living for a year of spiritual growth, material comfort, health and happiness.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

The holiday celebrating the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah, has been marked for millennia as a time for introspection, celebrated by blowing the Shofar and eating apples dipped in honey[1]. Yet the scriptural evidence does not explicitly specify any of the familiar elements with which the festival is so closely associated. The Torah states:

ויקרא פרק כג פסוק כדדַּבֵּר אֶל בְּנֵי יִשְׂרָאֵל לֵאמֹר בַּחֹדֶשׁ הַשְּׁבִיעִי בְּאֶחָד לַחֹדֶשׁ יִהְיֶה לָכֶם שַׁבָּתוֹן זִכְרוֹן תְּרוּעָה מִקְרָא קֹדֶשׁ:﻿Speak to the People of Israel, saying, 'In the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall have a sabbatical, a commemoration of teru'ah, a holy gathering. Vayikra 23:24

במדבר פרק כט(א) וּבַחֹדֶשׁ הַשְּׁבִיעִי בְּאֶחָד לַחֹדֶשׁ מִקְרָא קֹדֶשׁ יִהְיֶה לָכֶם כָּל מְלֶאכֶת עֲבֹדָה לֹא תַעֲשׂוּ יוֹם תְּרוּעָה יִהְיֶה לָכֶם:﻿And in the seventh month, on the first day of the month, you shall have a holy gathering; you shall do no labor; it shall be a day of teru'ah for you. Bamidbar 29:1

When the Torah commands observance of this holiday there is no clear reference to the identity of this day as the start of a new year, no mention of the Shofar - not even the apple and honey. The crux of the problem is the word teru'ah. What is teru'ah, and why are we required to remember or commemorate it? How is that commemoration achieved?

This word is used elsewhere in the text: Not far from the first reference, in the Book of Vayikra, we again find the word teru'ah. The context is the commandment to observe the Jubilee Year; significantly, the word teru'ah is attached to the word shofar.ויקרא פרק כה(ט) וְהַעֲבַרְתָּ שׁוֹפַר תְּרוּעָה בַּחֹדֶשׁ הַשְּׁבִעִי בֶּעָשׂוֹר לַחֹדֶשׁ בְּיוֹם הַכִּפֻּרִים תַּעֲבִירוּ שׁוֹפָר בְּכָל אַרְצְכֶם:Then shall you transmit shofar teru'ah on the tenth day of the seventh month, on the Day of Atonement shall you sound the shofar throughout all your land. Vayikra 25:9

This passage teaches us that the word teru'ah is the sound of the shofar. Additionally, there is one earlier source that connects shofar and yovel (Jubilee): Both of these terms appear in the Book of Shmot in the context of the Revelation at Sinai.

Mount Sinai, which heretofore had been a non-descript, insignificant location, became, for a limited time, the holiest place on Earth. The temporary change in status was signified in various ways, and these verses indicate the very severe consequences of trespassing the boundaries of this holy area during the days leading up to and including the Revelation. The Revelation itself was accompanied by a crescendo of shofar sound, and the signal that the restrictions were lifted and the mount returned to its earlier mundane status was the sounding of the yovel, a long, final note of the shofar. Thus, when we read in our present context that the first day of the seventh month should be observed as “a commemoration of teru'ah” or “a day of teru'ah”, we know that the intention is to blow the shofar. What remains unclear is – why? What is the particular spiritual character and significance of this day and how is it connected to the sound of the shofar?

From what we have seen thus far in the verses, the commandment to blow the shofar seems most appropriate as an observance of Shavuot, the day on which the heavens opened and the Torah was given at Sinai, accompanied by the blast of the shofar and the final blast of the yovel. Why, then, shofar on Rosh Hashana? Similarly, the association of the yovel blast with the Jubilee Year observance, held on Yom Kippur of the fiftieth year in the sabbatical cycle, could easily explain our tradition to sound the shofar on Yom Kippur each year. Yom Kippur is the day the Jewish People actually received the Torah, in the form of the Second Tablets that Moshe brought down from on high after the nation was forgiven for the Sin of the Golden Calf. This would be an additional reason to sound the shofar on Yom Kippur, continuing the association of the shofar with the Giving of the Torah at Sinai. Yet we are none the wiser as to the reason we sound the shofar on Rosh Hashana; simply put, what do the things we know about Rosh Hashana have to do with shofar blasts?

Multiple CalendarsThe Mishna teaches that the Jewish year is layered with multiple calendars.[2] The cycle of months begins with Nisan, commemorating the Exodus from Egypt and the birth of our national identity celebrated on eve of the 15th of the month. This is the particular calendar of the Jewish People, the cycle of our particular national history. On the other hand, the start of the natural, universal year is in the autumn, and begins with the month of Tishrei. The Mishna teaches that the 1st of Tishrei marks the beginning of the natural cycle, and all of creation passes before God in judgment.[3] This aspect of judgment that is associated with Rosh Hashanah is embedded in our Oral Tradition, and is not hinted at in the text of the Torah. In fact, when we are told that the first day of the seventh month is a day to commemorate the teru'ah, no rationale is offered, making Rosh Hashanah unique among the biblically ordained holidays in this respect.

According to Rabbinic tradition, Creation took place on Rosh Hashana[4] - specifically, Creation of Man. On the very same day that Man was created, he sinned, and was judged:[5]

ויקרא רבה (וילנא) פרשת אמור פרשה כט סימן אבחדש השביעי באחד לחדש הה"ד (תהלים קיט) לעולם ה' דברך נצב בשמים תני בשם ר"א בכ"ה באלול נברא העולם ואתיא דרב כההיא דתני ר"א דתנינן בתקיעתא דרב זה היום תחלת מעשיך זכרון ליום ראשון כי חוק לישראל הוא וגו' ועל המדינות בו יאמר איזו לחרב ואיזו לשלום איזו לרעב ואיזו לשובע ובריות בו יפקדו להזכירם לחיים ולמות נמצאת אתה אומר ביום ראש השנה בשעה ראשונה עלה במחשבה בשניה נתייעץ עם מלאכי השרת בשלישי כנס עפרו ברביעי גבלו בחמישי רקמו בששי עשאו גולם בשביעי נפח בו נשמה בשמיני הכניסו לגן בתשיעי נצטוה בעשירי עבר באחד עשר נידון בשנים עשר יצא בדימוס אמר הקב"ה לאדם זה סימן לבניך כשם שעמדת לפני בדין היום הזה ויצאת בדימוס כך עתידין בניך לעמוד לפני בדין ביום זה ויוצאין לפני בדימוס אימתי בחדש השביעי באחד לחדש.It was taught in the name of R. Eliezer: The world was created on the twenty-fifth of Elul. The view of Rav agrees with the teaching of R. Eliezer. For we have learned in the blessing for the Shofar composed by Rav: ' This day, on which was the beginning of work, a memorial of the first day, for it is a statute for Israel, a decree of the God of Yaakov. On it, sentence is pronounced upon countries: which of them is destined to the sword and which to peace, which to famine and which to plenty; and each individual creature is visited on that day, and recorded for life or for death.' Thus we learn that on Rosh Hashana, in the first hour the idea of creating Man entered His mind, in the second He took counsel with the Ministering Angels, in the third He assembled Adam's dust, in the fourth He kneaded it, in the fifth He shaped him, in the sixth He made him into a lifeless body, in the seventh He breathed a soul into him, in the eighth He brought him into the Garden of Eden, in the ninth he was commanded [against eating of the fruit of the tree of knowledge], in the tenth he transgressed, in the eleventh he was judged, in the twelfth he was pardoned. 'The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Adam, 'This will be a sign to your children. As you stood in judgment before Me this day and came out with a free pardon, so will your children in the future stand in judgment before Me on this day and will come out from My presence with a free pardon.’ When will that be? 'In the seventh month, on the first day of the month.' Midrash Rabba Vayikra 29:1

The 1st of Tishrei is therefore an auspicious day: the day of our creation, and the day when we were given a second chance. Subsequently Rosh Hashana becomes a day of taking stock, with one eye on the actions of the previous year and the other eye on the upcoming year.

The First BreathBut why blow the shofar on Rosh Hashana? Rav Yehonatan Eybeshutz points out a deep and meaningful connection between the day of the Creation of Man and the commandment to blow the shofar:

בראשית פרק ב, פסוק ז'וַיִּיצֶר ה’ אֱלֹהִים אֶת הָאָדָם עָפָר מִן הָאֲדָמָה וַיִּפַּח בְּאַפָּיו נִשְׁמַת חַיִּים וַיְהִי הָאָדָם לְנֶפֶשׁ חַיָּה:And the Almighty God formed man of the dust of the ground, and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life; and man became a living soul. Bereishit 2:7

Man becomes a living, sentient being when God breathes His breath into him, transforming him from physical matter into a living hybrid of the physical and spiritual. When we blow the shofar on the day of Man's creation, it serves as a memorial to that first breath, the divine breath of life blown at the dawn of Creation, on Rosh Hashana.[6]

We may now take a closer look at the mitzva of shofar: On Rosh Hashana, we are commanded not to blow the shofar, but to hear the blast of the shofar.[7] When our Sages composed the wording of the blessing we recite each year on Rosh Hashana, they attempted to focus our concentration on that first breath, that primordial breath which infused mankind with a Divine soul. In the course of the year, the sound of the shofar may become distant and we may turn our attention away from the divinity that is at our very core. This cycle is interrupted on Rosh Hashana, as it was on certain other occasions in our history when we were able to hear that sound collectively, to hear it clearly, and to recognize its divine source: At Mount Sinai, when we received the Torah, on Yom Kippur of the Jubilee Year.

Once each year we are commanded to listen intently, with proper concentration, to the sound of the shofar. We are called upon to tune in to that cry that supplants words, the sound that is made by our breath, and to hear the echoes of that first breath that reverberates through time, ever since God blew His own breath into Man.[8]

Just as the sound of the shofar is the sound of the beginning of human history, it is also the sound of the culmination of human history: The prophetic description of the End of Days includes the sound of the great shofar blast that will reverberate throughout the land. Once again, God's breath will animate the entire world. God Himself will sound the shofar[9], just as He breathed a soul into Man, just as He sounded the shofar at Sinai. On that day, all of mankind will hear the sound and recognize God, Creator and King.

ישעיהו פרק כז פסוק יגוְהָיָה בַּיּוֹם הַהוּא יִתָּקַע בְּשׁוֹפָר גָּדוֹל וּבָאוּ הָאֹבְדִים בְּאֶרֶץ אַשּׁוּר וְהַנִּדָּחִים בְּאֶרֶץ מִצְרָיִם וְהִשְׁתַּחֲווּ לַה' בְּהַר הַקֹּדֶשׁ בִּירוּשָׁלִָם:﻿And it shall come to pass on that day, that the great shofar shall be blown, and those shall come who were lost in the land of Assyria, and the outcasts in the land of Egypt, and shall worship the Almighty on the holy mount at Jerusalem. Yishayahu 27:13

Sunday, September 6, 2009

דברים פרק ל(ב) וְשַׁבְתָּ עַד ה' אֱלֹהֶיךָ וְשָׁמַעְתָּ בְקֹלוֹ כְּכֹל אֲשֶׁר אָנֹכִי מְצַוְּךָ הַיּוֹם אַתָּה וּבָנֶיךָ בְּכָל לְבָבְךָ וּבְכָל נַפְשֶׁךָ:﻿And you shall return to the Almighty your God, and shall obey His voice according to all that I command you this day, you and your children, with all your heart, and with all your soul; Dvarim 30:2

One of the axioms of Judaism is the belief in the possibility of spiritual rehabilitation. No matter how mired in sin, man can lift himself up and return to God.

The Talmud tells of one man who believed that he could not return; he felt that he had forfeited that option, that the opportunity was lost. His name was Elisha, and his father’s name was Avuya - but don’t go looking for him in the Talmud; he is not easily found.[1] His name has been removed, consciously and purposefully expunged. He is known only as Acher – the “other”, and his tale begins with a mystical journey gone awry:

Four great scholars embarked on a magical mystical journey. One died, one lost his mind, the third - Acher lost his faith. Only one, Rabbi Akiva, returned unscathed. What caused this extreme response? The scant details in the Talmudic account of this journey may help us understand what happened: The four scholars entered what is called Pardes, a word literally translated as "orchard" but interpreted here by the commentaries as "Paradise" – the Garden of Eden.[2] These same commentaries debate whether this was a physical journey or one which transpired only in the psyche of the travelers; either way, the revelation was real: They glimpsed a higher world.[3]

One would assume that if any human being, all the more so a Torah sage of the caliber of these four, merited a glance of this higher world, of Heaven, of Paradise, the experience would be elevating, confirming. This would seem to be the experience of Rabbi Akiva[4]. We may even venture to say that Ben Azzai and Ben Zoma did not necessarily have negative experiences in the Pardes: Ben Azzai departed this world because he attained a higher form of existence,[5] and Ben Zoma reached such an elevated level of consciousness that he was no longer a "normal" man. He was incapable of assimilating this experience into normal human existence. As for Elisha/Acher, something went terribly wrong. What could have led to such a drastic about-face? What could have brought him to apostasy? The Talmud described his reaction as "kitzetz bneti'ot" (uprooted that which had been planted): Perhaps as an extension of the metaphor of the Pardes/Orchard, he is described as having cut down the saplings. He uprooted or defaced the new trees growing in the orchard; he attacked and destroyed the foundations. Rather than enlightenment, he embraced heresy.

This passage is remarkable: Acher was on a sufficiently high spiritual level to ascend to Paradise, to witness the Heavenly Court at work, to see firsthand that every human action is, indeed, recorded - and yet he blasphemes! Surely, almost anyone else who saw what Acher was privileged to see would have immediately and unshakably confirmed his faith and clinched his fidelity to God. But somehow Acher’s twisted, troubled mind saw scandal and not justice, he saw weakness and not strength. His conclusion is belief in dualism, though it is not easy for us to see how he drew this conclusion. Presumably, when he saw Metatron sitting down, he interpreted it as a sign of fatigue, and assumed that there must be another power capable of sapping the angel's strength. This conclusion seems preposterous to us, and forces us to conclude that before Acher entered the Pardes he already held this position; he embarked on his mystical quest seeking confirmation, no matter how contrived, of his own twisted beliefs.

Entering heaven can be dangerous; making a mistake, speaking falsehood[9] in heaven proves spiritually debilitating. The angel who is in charge of recording the deeds of Israel is too formidable a foe. All of Elisha’s deeds are ripped out of the book – this is the meaning of the verse “Do not allow your mouth to cause your flesh to sin; and do not say, before the angel, that it was an error; why should God be angry at your voice, and destroy the work of your hands?” (Kohelet, Chapter 5:5). The works of Elisha's hands, his good deeds and his scholarship, are expunged; his visit to the Pardes comes to an end as a voice reverberates from the heart of heaven which seems to seal his fate: "Return, my mischievous children — all except Acher." The window of opportunity for rehabilitation has closed. From heaven, God lovingly calls out to all sinners, His 'mischievous children', to return, to come home. But not Acher; he alone is cast out. The loving Divine Voice excludes the Tanna who has gone astray.[10]

DescentElisha is erased; Acher - literally an "other", a sinister being whose very name is not to be uttered, takes his place. And as his good deeds are dissipating like a cloud on the horizon, as the door of teshuva closes, Acher weighs his next step. He chooses to take a walk on the wild side:

תלמוד בבלי מסכת חגיגה דף טו עמוד אאָמַר, הוֹאִיל וְאִטְרִידוּ לֵיהּ לְהַהוּא גַּבְרָא מֵהַהוּא עַלְמָא - לִיפּוּק וְלִיהַנִי בְהַאי עַלְמָא. נָפַק אַחֵר לְתַרְבּוּת רָעָה. אַשְׁכַּח זוֹנָה, תְּבָעָהּ, אָמְרָה לֵיהּ, לָאו אֶלִישָׁע בֶּן אֲבוּיָה אַתָּה? עֲקַר פּוּגְלָא מִמִשְׁרָא בְשַׁבָּת, וְיַהֵב לָהּ. אָמְרָה, אַחֵר הוּא.[Thereupon] he said: Since I have been driven forth from that other world, let me go forth and enjoy this world. So Acher pursued evil ways. He went forth, found a harlot and demanded her (services). She said to him: Are you not Elisha ben Avuyah? [But] when he uprooted a radish from of its bed on Shabbat and gave it to her, she said: 'It is another [Acher].'

His conclusion is astonishing: He knows with certainty that there is a God; he has seen, with his own eyes, that there is a World to Come, and that all human actions are recorded for a final reckoning of reward and punishment. He also knows that he will not be permitted to repent, so he makes his calculations and embraces sin, pursues evil. He chooses to side with that other power, the power that pulls him toward the abyss. He seeks comfort in the arms of a wayward woman, and it is she who dubs him Acher.[11]

But the story does not end there. The Talmud tells us that Elisha ben Avuyah's greatest student, Rabbi Meir, does not abandon him. Ironically, Rabbi Meir’s family has made their own journey: his father was born a non-Jew,[12] a pagan, and he made his way to Judaism. Now his son’s teacher takes a journey in the opposite direction. Remarkably, even after Acher abandons the path of Torah, Rabbi Meir clings to him. The Talmud records their conversations, which are peppered with debates on theological issues. Acher apparently tried to lead Rabbi Meir toward a belief in dualism by posing provocative, leading questions he thought would support his opinion:

No Way HomeAcher is brilliant, and not easily swayed.[13] Entrenched in his position, he does not budge. But he is not only brilliant, he has a wonderful excuse: God does not want him back. He has heard a Heavenly Voice; he, who has seen heaven with his own eyes and heard a voice from heaven speak directly to him, feels the path back to heaven is forever closed. Rabbi Meir does not concur;[14] he waits, looking for an opening to cajole and bring back his wayward teacher. [15]

Acher's excuse of “hearing voices” is not easily countered, but Rabbi Meir apparently does not believe this edict[17]. He looks for another way to gain insight into the judgment of Heaven, for Rabbi Meir believes Heaven always leaves room for return. He continues to look for a sign, an understanding, an open window that will allow his teacher to regain his "place at the table." He turns to an “oracle” of sorts, travelling with his teacher from one study hall to then next, seeking the spark of divine spirit possessed by pure, innocent children engrossed in Torah learning:

תַּקְפֵיהּ, וְעַיְילֵיהּ בֵּי מִדְרָשָׁא, אָמַר לוֹ לִינוּקָא, פְּסוּק לִי פְּסוּקַיִךְ, אָמַר לֵיהּ, (ישעיה מח) "אֵין שָׁלוֹם אָמַר ה' בּוֹרִית, נִכְתָּם עֲוֹנֵךְ לְפָנַי". עַיִילֵיה לְבֵי כְּנִישְׁתָּא אַחֲרִיתִי, אָמַר לֵיהּ [דף טו ע"ב] לִינוּקָא, פְּסוֹק לִי פְּסוּקָיִךְ, אָמַר לֵיהּ, (שם דּ) "וְאַתְּ שָׁדוּד מַה תַּעֲשִׂי, כִּי תִּלְבְּשִׁי שָׁנִי, וְכִי תַּעֲדִי עֲדִי זָהָב, כִּי תִּקְרְעִי בַפּוּךְ עֵינַיִךְ - לַשַׁוְא תִּתְיַפִּי", (תקפיה) וְעַיְילֵיה בִתְלֵיסַר בֵּי מִדְרָשָׁא, פָּסְקוּ לֵיהּ כִּי הַאי גַּוְונָא - לִבִישׁוּתָא. יְנוּקָא דְּסוֹף תְּלֵיסָר אָמַר לֵיהּ, (תהלים נ) "וְלַרָשָׁע אָמַר אֱלֹהִים, מַה לְךָ לְסַפֵּר חֻקָי", הַהוּא יְנוּקָא הֲוָה מְגַמְגֵם בִּלִישְׁנֵיהּ, אִישְׁתַמַע כְּמַאן דְּקָאָמַר, "וְלֶאֱלִישַׁע אָמַר אֱלֹהִים", שְׁקַל סַכִּינָא, וְקַרְעֵיהּ, וְשַׁדְרֵיהּ לִתְלֵיסָר בֵּי מִדְרָשָׁא. אִיכָּא דְּאָמְרִי, אָמַר, אִי הֲוָה סַכִּינָא בְהַדָאי - קְרַעֵתֵּיהּ.[R. Meir] grabbed him and took him, to a schoolhouse. [Acher] said to a child: Recite for me thy verse![The child] answered: 'There is no peace, said the Almighty, unto the wicked' (Yishaiyahu 48, 22). He then took him to another schoolhouse. [Acher] said to a child: Recite for me thy verse! He answered: 'For though you wash yourself with nitre, and take much soap, yet your iniquity is marked before Me, said the Almighty God (Yirmiyah 2, 22). He took him to yet another schoolhouse, and [Acher] said (Talmud - Chagigah 15b) to a child: Recite for me thy verse! He answered: 'And you, that are spoiled, what do you, that you clothe yourself with scarlet, that you bedeck yourself with ornaments of gold, that you enlarge your eyes with paint? In vain do you make yourself fair… (Yirmiyahu 4, 30). He took him to yet another schoolhouse until he took him to thirteen schools; all of them quoted in similar vein. When he said to the last one, 'Recite for my thy verse,' he answered: But unto the wicked God said: ‘What have you to do to declare My statutes?( Tehilim 50, 16). That child was a stutterer, so it sounded as though he answered: ‘But to Elisha God said’. Some say that [Acher] had a knife with him, and he cut him up and sent him to the thirteen schools; and some say that he said: 'Had I a knife in my hand I would have cut him up.'

One after the other, the children deliver a disturbing, even ominous message of despair to Acher: his soul is sullied and cannot be cleansed. Acher, tormented by his own demons, vents his anger on the innocent. Had he merely threatened violence and abused the child verbally, the narrative would be upsetting, and our estimation of Acher greatly reduced. But the Talmud considers the possibility that Acher actually murdered the thirteenth child and sent his remains to the others as some type of ominous warning of his own.

The Enemy WithinSo many questions arise: How could this have happened? Why didn’t someone stop him? How could he possibly get away with such violence? In a parallel source in The Jerusalem Talmud that tells the story of Acher, more details are shared, more background revealed. While the version of Acher's story in the Talmud Bavli contains a great deal of theological material, with the crucial scene being played out in heaven, the Jerusalem Talmud's approach is more historical, focusing on events which transpired here on earth. Despite some minor divergences, the two stories can be merged to create one complete picture.

The Jerusalem Talmud asks, “Who was Acher?” The answer is straightforward and shocking: “Elisha the son of Avuya who murdered teachers of Torah." Successful students had their lives cut short by Acher's maniacal attack on all that was holy; this is the Yerushalmi’s explanation of “kitzetz bneti'ot” cutting down the “young plants”. He entered the study-hall, surely flanked by Roman thugs, and uprooted the students - killing some, directing others to more “worthwhile” professions.

But this is not all, according to the Jerusalem Talmud: Acher joined the Romans, and used his Torah knowledge to insure that the Jews would publicly desecrate the Shabbat. When the Jews found a loophole in the law, he taught the loophole to the hated Romans, so they could erase Jewish identity and squash all hope of religious survival. It would come as no surprise to us to learn that the infamous Roman decree forbidding Sabbath observance was the work of Acher, the former Torah scholar. Elisha ben Avuya's was the ultimate fall: from Rabbi to executioner; from a teacher of great Torah scholars in their search for holiness, to teaching pagans who sought to extinguish holiness. The transformation of Elisha to Acher is complete.

The only question that remains is, can he return? Can he rekindle his relationship with God? Is teshuva a viable option for the rabbi who became a vile, ruthless criminal, the architect of the destruction of Judaism? Acher believes the answer is “no”. His former protégé, Rabbi Meir, thinks the answer is “yes”. Heaven seems to side with Acher – at least in this argument.

It must have been humiliating for Rabbi Meir to be told that his teacher is desecrating Shabbat, riding by on a horse - the favored mode of transportation of the ruling Romans. Acher, in the role of an aristocratic Roman, tramples upon the holy Shabbat. Rabbi Meir closes his book and seeks out his teacher, and he engages him in a discussion of the Book of Iyov and its examination of theodicy: “Why do bad things happen to good people?" Rabbi Meir hopes to drive home the idea that the end of Iyov's life-story brings him full circle, and Iyov reaps the rewards of his righteousness; In the end, Iyov is blessed with more than what he lost, as if to say, 'all's well that ends well'[18]. This message must have been particularly poignant , coming from Rabbi Meir, who had known more than a fair share of suffering[19]: He lost two sons,[20] and his other teacher was martyred[21]. Rabbi Meir did not choose a topic of conversation with Acher lightly; he directed their exchange toward the lesson he felt Acher needed to review.

תלמוד ירושלמי חגיגה פרק ב דף עז עמוד ב /ה"אאמר ליה ומה הויתה דריש תוכן א"ל טוב אחרית דבר מראשיתו אמר ליה ומה פתחת ביה א"ל לאדם שהוליד בנים בנערותו ומתו ובזקנותו ונתקיימו הוי טוב אחרית דבר מראשיתו לאדם שעשה סחורה בילדותו והפסיד ובזקנותו ונשתכר הוי טוב אחרית דבר מראשיתו לאדם שלמד תורה בנערותו ושכחה ובזקנותו וקיימה הוי טוב אחרית דבר מראשיתו אמר ווי דמובדין ולא משכחין עקיבה רבך לא הוה דרש כן אלא טוב אחרית דבר מראשיתו בזמן שהוא טוב מראשיתוR. Meir asked, And how do you explain, 'Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof'? He inquired, ‘What have you to say on it?’ He replied, ‘You have, for example, the man who acquires a stock of goods in his youth and loses money on it, but in his old age he makes a profit out of it. Another illustration of 'Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof': You have a man who begets children in his youth and they die; he begets children in his old age and they survive. Another illustration of 'Better is the end, etc.': You have a man who commits evil deeds in his youth but in his old age performs good deeds. Another illustration of 'Better is the end, etc.': You have the man who learns Torah in his youth and forgets it, but in his old age he returns to it; that is an instance of 'Better is the end of a thing than the beginning thereof'. Elisha said to him, 'Not so did your teacher Akiva explain it; but his interpretation was: Good is the end of a thing when it is good from its beginning.[22]

FoundationsElisha/Acher claims that something can only be good in the end if it was good in the beginning, a deterministic position generally opposed by the Jewish idea of Free Will. In fact, the status and scholarship achieved by Elisha's adversary, Rabbi Akiva[23], whose humble origins are well-known, are a prime example of Judaism's rejection of Acher's thesis, as is the life of Rabbi Meir himself, whose father converted from paganism to Judaism. Yet Acher remains unconvinced; he explains why he was doomed to failure from the outset.

תלמוד ירושלמי חגיגה פרק ב דף עז עמוד ב /ה"אובי היה המעשה אבויה אבא מגדולי ירושלם היה ביום שבא למוהליני קרא לכל גדולי ירושלם והושיבן בבית אחד ולר' אליעז' ולר' יהושע בבית אחר מן דאכלון ושתון שרון מטפחין ומרקדקין א"ר ליעזר לר' יהושע עד דאינון עסיקין בדידון נעסוק אנן בדידן וישבו ונתעסקו בדברי תורה מן התורה לנביאים ומן הנביאי' לכתובים וירדה אש מן השמים והקיפה אותם אמר להן אבויה רבותיי מה באתם לשרוף את ביתי עלי אמרו לו חס ושלום אלא יושבין היינו וחוזרין בדברי תור' מן התורה לנביאים ומן הנביאים לכתובים והיו הדברים שמיחים כנתינתן מסיני והית' האש מלחכ' אותן כלחיכתן מסיני ועיקר נתינתן מסיני לא ניתנו אלא באש וההר בוער באש עד לב השמים אמ' להן אבויה אבא רבותיי אם כך היא כוחה של תורה אם נתקיים לי בן הזה לתורה אני מפרישו לפי שלא היתה כוונתו לשם שמים לפיכך לא נתקיימו באותו האישSo it happened with my father, Avuyah, who was one of the great men of Jerusalem. On the day of my circumcision, he invited all the eminent men of Jerusalem to sit in one room, and R. Eliezer and R. Yehoshua sat separately, in one room. After the assembled dignitaries had eaten and drunk, some recited songs and others alphabetical acrostics. R. Eliezer said to R. Yehoshua, 'They are occupied with what interests them, so shall we not occupy ourselves with what interests us?' They began with subjects connected with the Torah, then with the Prophets, and after that with the Scriptures. The words were as joyful as when they were given from Sinai and fire surrounded them; for were they not originally delivered from Sinai with fire, as it is said, 'The mountain burned with fire unto the heart of heaven (Devarim 4, 11)? My father thereupon remarked, "Since the might of the Torah is so great, should this child survive I will dedicate him to the Torah." Because his intention was not for the Name of Heaven, my study of the Torah did not endure with me.

Elisha recounts the reason and circumstances in which his father, a wealthy and influential man, decided to dedicate his newborn son to a life of Torah scholarship: It was for the power. He saw a power in Torah which had previously eluded him. Attracted by this power, he sends his son to study. Acher feels that because of these tainted origins, his study was destined to fail.[24]

They continue the conversation; Acher rides on his horse on Shabbat, and Rabbi Meir follows by foot:

תלמוד ירושלמי חגיגה פרק ב דף עז עמוד ב /ה"אאמר ליה ומה הויתה דרש תובן א"ל לא יערכנה זהב וזכוכית א"ל ומה פתחת ביה א"ל דברי תורה קשין לקנות ככלי זהב ונוחין לאבד ככלי זכוכית ומה כלי זהב וכלי זכוכית אם נשתברו יכול הוא לחזור ולעשותן כלים כמו שהיו אף תלמיד חכם ששכח תלמודו יכול הוא לחזור וללמדו כתחילה א"ל דייך מאיר עד כאן תחום שבת א"ל מן הן את ידע א"ל מן טלפי דסוסיי דהוינא מני והולך אלפיים אמה א"ל וכל הדא חכמתא אית בך ולית את חזר בך א"ל לית אנא יכיל א"ל למה א"ל שפעם אחת הייתי עובר לפני בית קודש הקדשים רכוב על סוסי ביום הכיפורים שחל להיות בשבת ושמעתי בת קול יוצאת מבית קודש הקדשים ואומרת שובו בנים חוץ מאלישע בן אבויה שידע כחי ומרד בי וכל דא מן הן אתת ליה אלא פעם אחת היה יושב ושונה בבקעת גיניסר וראה אדם אחד עלה לראש הדקל ונטל אם על הבני' וירד משם בשלום למחר ראה אדם אחר שעלה לראש הדקל ונטל את הבנים ושילח את האם וירד משם והכישו נחש ומת אמר כתיב שלח תשלח את האם ואת הבנים תקח לך למען ייטב לך והארכת ימים איכן היא טובתו של זה איכן היא אריכות ימיו של זה ולא היה יודע שדרשה רבי יעקב לפנים ממנו למען ייטב לך לעולם הבא שכולו טוב והארכת ימים לעתיד שכולו ארוך ויש אומרים על ידי שראה לשונו של רבי יהודה הנחתום נתון בפי הכלב שותת דם אמר זו תורה וזו שכרה זהו הלשון שהיה מוציא דברי תורה כתיקנן זה הוא הלשון שהיה יגיע בתורה כל ימיו זו תורה וזו שכרה דומה שאין מתן שכר ואין תחיית המתים ויש אומרים אמו כשהיתה מעוברת בו היתה עוברת על בתי עבודה זרה והריחה מאותו המין והיה אותו הריח מפעפע בגופה כאירסה של חכינהWhat do you say is the meaning of the verse, 'Gold and glass cannot equal it (Iyov 28, 17)' - what have you to say on it?’ R. Meir answered, ‘These are the words of the Torah which are as difficult to acquire as vessels of gold and glass.’ He said to him, 'Not so did your teacher Akiva explain it; but his interpretation was: as vessels of gold and glass can be repaired if broken, so can a disciple of the Sages recover his learning if he has lost it.’Elisha then remarked, 'Turn back.' 'Why?,' R. Meir asked. ‘Because this is the Sabbath limit.’ ‘How do you know?' 'By the hoofs of my horse [which tell me that he] has already gone two thousand cubits.’ R. Meir exclaimed, ‘You possess all this wisdom and yet you do not repent.’ He replied, ‘I am unable.’ ‘Why?’ He said to him, ' I was once on my horse riding past the Temple on the Day of Atonement which occurred on the Sabbath, and I heard a Bat Kol crying out, " Return, my mischievous children (Yirmiyahu 3, 22), Return unto Me, and I will return unto you (Malachi 3, 7), - with the exception of Elisha ben Avuyah, who knows My power and yet rebelled against Me!" ‘How did this happen to him? He once saw a man climb to the top of a palm-tree on the Sabbath, take the mother-bird with the young, and descend in safety. At the termination of the Sabbath he saw a man climb to the top of a palm-tree and take the young but let the mother bird go free, and as he descended a snake bit him and he died. Elisha exclaimed, ‘It is written, "Send away the mother bird, but the young you may take for yourself; that it may be well with you, and that you may prolong your days (Devarim 22, 7)." Where is the well-being of this man, and where is the prolonging of his days!’ He was unaware how R. Akiva explained it, 'That it may be well with you in the World [to Come] which is wholly good,' And that you may prolong your days' in the world which is unending. Some say that it was because he saw the tongue of R. Yehudah the baker in the mouth of a dog and exclaimed, ‘If it happened so with a tongue which labored in the Torah all its days, how much more so will it be with a tongue which does not know nor labor in the Torah!’ He went on to say, ‘If this is so, there is no reward for the righteous nor is there a resurrection of the dead.’ Still others say that it happened because when his mother was pregnant with him, she passed by idolatrous temples and smelled [the offerings]. They gave her some of that kind [of food] and she ate it, and it burned in her stomach like the venom of a serpent [and affected him].

Elisha cannot completely divorce himself from Judaism, from the dialectic of learning. He seems aware of the power of God and Torah; rather than reject this power, he calls himself a dualist, for he sees and values two distinct powers. He enjoys the banter with Rabbi Meir, but only up to a point. When Rabbi Meir turns the tables on him, makes demands or raises expectations, it becomes uncomfortable and Acher rides on. When Rabbi Meir broaches the topic of repentance, of the ability to fix that which was broken, he is told to go back.

The version of their discussion recorded in the Talmud Bavli focused on a philosophical exegesis of the verse regarding vessels of gold and glass; the version of their discussion recorded in the Jerusalem Talmud adds the dimension of a living, breathing, real-life encounter. Two men are travelling together on Shabbbat, discussing a critical point of faith; the apostate teacher, in a symbolic gesture, "coincidentally" notices that they have reached the permitted boundaries for Shabbat travel - at precisely the moment Rabbi Meir has asked him to return, to come home, to abandon his horse, his Roman clothes, his new- found friends and the prestige they have bestowed upon him. Acher protests; he cannot return, for his fate is sealed. He has heard a Heavenly Voice denying him the ability to return. In this version of the story, the voice emanates from the remains of the shattered walls of the Temple in Jerusalem.

What brought him there? Are we to believe that he “happened” to be riding, and he “happened” to arrive at the holiest place for Jews, on the holiest day of the year? His journey has purpose, the day on which it occurs is significant, and there is meaning to the location.

Elisha/Acher was raised to embrace Torah because of its power, but that power seems to have vanished. Shattered, burned ruins replace the glory of the Jewish people – the House of God. Acher looks at the ruined Beit Hamikdash, and concludes that there is another power, something even greater, which destroyed the Temple. He embraces that power, and seeks to align himself with the Romans who now seem more powerful than the Jews. Is this not the lesson that his father always wanted him to learn – to follow the power, to align himself with the most powerful force he could find? When he sees the martyrdom of the great Torah sages, he aligns himself with the executioner; he chooses 'ruthless murderer' over 'rabbi'. Rabbi Meir read Acher's inner thoughts accurately: It was, indeed, the problem of theodicy, “why bad things happen to good people,” that led Acher into the embrace of the evil Roman Empire, the epicenter of the most glorious power mankind had ever known. Elisha cannot reconcile an all-powerful God with the martyrdom of the scholars, the exile of the Jewish People, the destruction of the Kingdom of God on earth. He turns away, to the polar opposite, in search of that greater power that he believes has overcome the God of Torah.

Acher's words display a great deal of anger. He seems to lament the years he "wasted" on Torah study, and he tries to "save" others from a life of holiness and Torah study. It is his anger which leads him to the place where the Temple once stood, to what is, in his eyes, a sign of the diminished power of Judaism and the glory of the Romans. But he does not deny the existence of God or His involvement in human history: he himself tells Rabbi Meir that from the ruins of the Beit HaMikdash a voice rang out, calling on every Jew to return to God – with one exception. Elisha ben Avuya cannot return. His estrangement is irrevocable.[25]

The CoreWhy is Elisha/Acher the exception to the concept of teshuva? Admittedly, his deeds were particularly dastardly; his repentance would require more than a simple gesture. Why does Heaven bother with the fallen Rabbi, going as far as a personal communication, to tell him that his teshuva will not be accepted? Moreover, if Elisha/Acher has not rejected his belief in the truth of God and the message he receives, why does he care what the Bat Kol says? If Judaism is true, if the Torah is divine, why is he so concerned what the results of his teshuva will be? Would it not be sufficient to take the path of truth, to console himself with the knowledge that he can spend the rest of his life acquiring truth, gaining understanding? I have often wondered why Rabbi Meir did not counsel his teacher – “You do your part, return to God and a life of Torah, and let God worry about the rest.”[26] Herein lies the crux of Acher's sin: Acher's transgressions were certainly numerous, his actions heinous, but they all shared a common core: Above all else, Elisha/Acher was a pragmatist. He was fully aware that his entrée to a life of Torah was born of an attraction to the glory and power of Torah; his dedication to that life, to that truth, was lost when he saw something more powerful. His allegiance was, and always had been, a matter of pragmatism. It was this same pragmatism that led him down the path of decadence, for only a person motivated solely by pragmatism can say, “If I have lost my share in the next world, I may as well enjoy this one”. A man who seeks holiness and truth would not have drawn the same conclusion.[27]

Had the Heavenly Voice warmly welcomed Elisha home, his pragmatism may have led him in that direction, but such repentance would have been imperfect. Instead, God tells him that he is not welcome, putting him in position to do the right thing - perhaps, for the first time in his life, to do the right thing for the right reason: not "what's in it for me", but because it is right.

No ExceptionsThere are no exceptions to teshuva. We – all of us, each and every one of us, can repent, at any time.[28] The teshuva of any individual is as unique as the person who must perform it. A man like Elisha Ben Avuya, who was so gifted, so brilliant, and had the best education, also had great responsibilities. His fall was profound; therefore the teshuva necessary in his case was extraordinary. What is instructive is that God did not call him to return; in a sense, Acher lost[29] the sya'ata d'shmaya,[30] the help from Heaven that tugs at the heart of the sinner and awakens him to repentance.[31] But God did not abandon him altogether: God did engage Acher in dialogue, even if to say “you can not return”.[32] God wanted even the teshuva of Acher, but true teshuva, not a perfunctory repentance. What God wanted from Elisha/Acher was repentance that would go to the very core of his existence, and jar him to the point of transformation. The core of his sin was pragmatism; therefore God led him on a path of complete rehabilitation; He removed any possible cost-benefit calculation that would have flawed Acher's teshuva, by saying “Return, my mischievous children - except Acher," and removing any hope of reward from the equation. Had Elisha repented, he would surely have been accepted. Had he rejected pragmatism and the power of Rome, and chosen instead closeness to God, to truth and to morality – even though he was forewarned that the closeness to God would not be reciprocated - he would, in effect, have embraced decency with no promise of reward, with nothing to “gain” beyond truth itself.[33] Had he chosen this path, he would surely have been embraced by the Shechina.[34]

In fact, the Jerusalem Talmud intimates that, on his deathbed, Acher expressed remorse:

While we need not play the role of “God’s accountant” and concern ourselves with the judgment that awaited that tortured soul in the World to Come, we may learn a tremendous lesson from this passage in any case: Elisha ben Avuyah shed a tear of regret with his dying breath. Even at the last moment of life, anyone – no matter how far they have gone, no matter how heinous their crimes, no matter how long they have turned their back on God, on truth, on teshuva - can repent. When it comes to teshuva, there are no exceptions; all are welcome home[35]. Some are invited through the front door, while others, like Elisha ben Avuyah, may need to "sneak" in, but there are no exceptions.[36]

[18] There is an opinion expressed in the Talmud that the Book of Iyov not a historical book, rather the entire book should be read as a parable. Iyov, a righteous man, can regain his health and his wealth, rebuild his family with newly-born children and be consoled for those he has lost. In real life the loss of a child is surely the cause of much pain – even if new children are subsequently born.תלמוד בבלי מסכת בבא בתרא דף טו עמוד אאיוב לא היה ולא נברא אלא משל היה.﻿Talmud Bavli Baba Batra 15aA certain Rabbi was sitting before R. Samuel b. Nahmani and in the course of his expositions remarked, 'Iyov never was and never existed, but is only a parable.[19] Eventually, the Roman inquisitors came for Rabbi Meir himself. See Kohelet Raba 7:19קהלת רבה (וילנא) פרשה זר' מאיר הוה מתבעי למלכותא וערק עבר על חנותא דארמיין, ואשכח יתהון יתיבין אכלון מן ההוא מינא, חמון יתיה אמרין הוא הוא, לית הוא הוא, אמרין אם הוא הוא, אנן כרזין ליה אין אתי אכיל עמן והוה צבע חדא אצבעותיה בדמה דחזיר, ויהב אצבעותיה אוחרי בפומיה, טמש הא ומתק הא, אמרין דין לדין אילו הוה ר' מאיר לא הוה עביד כן שבקוניה וערק, וקרא עליה ויתרון דעת החכמה תחיה בעליה,﻿R. Meir was being sought by the [Roman] Government. He fled and passed by the store of some Romans. He found them sitting and eating swine's flesh. When they saw him they said, ‘Is it he or not? Since it may be he, let us call him over to us; if he comes and eats with us [it cannot be he].’ He dipped one of his fingers in the swine's blood and placed another finger in his mouth, dipping one finger and sucking the other. They said one to the other, ' If he were R. Meir, he would not have done so. They let him go and he fled. The text was therefore applied to him, 'THE advantage of knowledge is, that wisdom preserves the life of he that possesses it.'[20] See Midrash Mishle chapter 31מדרש משלי (בובר) פרשה לאד"א אשת חיל מי ימצא. אמרו מעשה היה בר' מאיר שהיה יושב ודורש בבית המדרש בשבת במנחה, ומתו שני בניו, מה עשתה אמו /אמן/, הניחה שניהם על המטה ופרשה סדין עליהם, במוצאי שבת בא ר' מאיר מבית המדרש לביתו, אמר לה היכן שני בני, אמרה לבית המדרש הלכו, אמר לה צפיתי לבית המדרש ולא ראיתי אותם, נתנו לו כוס של הבדלה והבדיל, חזר ואמר היכן שני בני, אמרה לו הלכו למקום אחר ועכשיו הם באים, הקריבה לפניו המאכל ואכל ובירך, לאחר שבירך אמרה לו רבי [שאלה אחת יש לי לשאול לך, אמר לה אמרי שאלתך, אמרה לו רבי] קודם היום בא אדם אחד ונתן לי פקדון, ועכשיו בא ליטול אותו, נחזיר לו או לא, אמר לה בתי מי שיש פקדון אצלו הוא צריך להחזירו לרבו, אמרה לו רבי חוץ מדעתך לא הייתי נותנת אצלו, מה עשתה תפשתו בידה, והעלה אותו לאותו חדר, והקריבה אותו למטה, ונטלה סדין מעליהם, וראה שניהם מתים ומונחים על המטה, התחיל בוכה ואומר בני בני רבי רבי, בני בדרך ארץ, ורבי שהיו מאירין פני בתורתן, באותה שעה אמרה לו לר' מאיר רבי לא כך אמרת לי אני צריך להחזיר הפקדון לרבו, אמר, ה' נתן וה' לקח יהי שם ה' מבורך (איוב א כא).Rabbi Meir sat learning Torah on a Shabbat afternoon in the House of Study. While he was there, his two sons died. What did their mother, Beruria, do? She laid them upon the bed and spread a linen cloth over them. At the end of Shabbat, Rabbi Meir came home and asked her, ‘Where are my sons?” She replied, ‘They went to the House of Study.” He said, “I did not see them there.” She gave him the havdalah cup and he said the blessing for havdalah. Then he asked again, ‘Where are my sons?” She said, ‘They went to another place and they are coming.” Then she gave him food to eat, and he ate and said the blessing. Then she said, “I have a question to ask you.” He said, “Ask it.” She said, “Early today a man came here and gave me something to keep for him, but now he has returned to ask for it back. Shall we return it to him or not?” He replied, “He who has received something on deposit must surely return it to its owner.” She replied, “Without your knowledge, I would not return it.” Then she took him by the hand, brought him to the bed, and took away the cloth and he saw his sons lying dead upon the bed. Then he began to weep and said about each, “Oh my son, my son; oh my teacher, my teacher. They were my sons, as all would say, but they were my teachers because they gave light to their father’s face through their knowledge of the Torah.” Then his wife said to him, “Did you not say to me that one must return a deposit to its owner? Does it not say, “The Lord gave, the Lord took, blessed be the name of the Lord” (Job 1:21 )?

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About Me

Born in Brooklyn NY, moved to Israel in 1984.
I teach and write about Torah topics. Author of "Explorations" on the weekly Parsha and "Emanations" on holidays - both published by Targum/Feldheim
http://rabbiarikahn.com
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